Death Be Not Proud
by StarKatt427
Summary: Is it truly possible to defeat death? Maka and Soul will have to find out as the battle on the Moon takes a turn for the worst. - Manga based; spoilers from chapter 110.
1. One Short Sleep Past

**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, as Atsushi Ōkubo is the rightful creator and owner.**

**A/N: Finally back with some Soul Eater! And let me start of by saying that this is _completely_ different than my other two stories. First of all, it's manga based, and it's going to be a lot darker than anything I've done to date, I do believe. Now, I don't really read the manga, but I follow along with the scans, and when I saw the latest chapter, it just called to me; I have no idea how the mangaka is going to continue with the story, but this idea just came to me as a possible outcome. This is the first chapter of a two-chapter story, and I'll try to begin working on the next one ASAP. **

**The title for this story comes from John Donne's poem "Death Be Not Proud", as do the chapter titles.**

**WARNING: If you read the manga, have not seen the scans for chapter 110, and don't want to be spoiled, DO NOT READ THIS THIS!**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

For Maka, the pain didn't register at first.

Since becoming a Meister for the Academy, she had partaken in many fights, faced numerous opponents and demented souls, and had received injuries that left her body riddled with scars, reminders of the clashes she'd participated in, badges of honor that said _I survived_. She'd felt the pain of a twisted ankle, the sharp snap and ache of a broken bone, the burning slice of a chainsaw and countless other weapons tearing at her flesh. Yet in the years she had become accustomed to fighting and the pain that came along with it, Maka had never felt true shock; not surprise, but the pure lack of awareness, of not being able to feel her body.

Until now.

It was as if her soul was disconnected from her human body, like time had stopped and that she had fallen into her center, lost inside herself. There was a lack of control, of not being able to move her limbs like she wanted, which sent a shot of fear into her addled mind. Her brain struggled to grasp at what had happened, what was happening now, but she was too stunned to be aware of anything besides the fact that _something was wrong_. Her ears were ringing, the outside world blocked out for the few seconds it took to pull herself from the depths of her soul, to focus her vision.

And then Maka was back, long enough to capture the present. She was staring directly into Asura's face, able to see the satisfaction in the Kishin's three maddened eyes, the insanity and the evil, the twisted grin. And then her eyes slipped away from his, wide gaze landing on the arm that had just ripped through her chest, his elbow between her breasts and his hand protruding from her back.

_No way. No…_

Then came the screaming.

"Maka!"

"Maka, _no_!"

"_Maka_!"

"M-Maka? Maka!"

She recognized their voices, each and every one of her friends, even amid the daze she was in: Kid, disbelieving and panicked; Liz and Patty simultaneously, the sisters' voices reflecting the same sound of terror; Tsubaki, shrill and piercing, terrified; and Black Star, disbelieving at first, then alarmed. Each voice hurt, each shout of her name a slice to her soul.

But they were nothing compared to the voice that sounded just below her, racked with panic and horror, dangerously unsteady, the most discomposed she had ever hear her Soul Eater as he screamed her name: "_MAKA_!"

Asura smirked, then without warning, snatched his arm back, the limb tearing out from her back and through her chest with a sickening squelch that elicited a startled, strangled sound from her throat as she hovered in the air, still balanced on Soul's handle where he flew in Weapon form.

But it was impossible to stay airborne.

She felt her body fall back, back, back into the air, the first true shots of pain jolting through her chest, her abdomen, sending flashes of dulled throbs to her brain. Even as she descended, stunned and dropping rapidly, Maka knew that if she hadn't been in such a state, if her mind hadn't been so far away, the pain would be much, much worse: unbearable.

Arms circled around her, pulling her tight to a firm, familiar body, and then they met the ground, although Maka felt nothing of the impact, both the stupor she was in and the person cradling her blocking out the pain she should have felt. She knew those arms, that strong chest she was being held against, the hands on her back and the sounds of his breath, loud and shaky now.

Soul laid her down, eyes wide and wild, pupils black pinpricks in pools of crimson blood as his hands fumbled at her chest, trembling to put pressure on the gaping wound. She felt it, but she didn't; a contradiction she didn't understand, but even so, she must have made a sound, because Soul was staring into her eyes again, one of his hands, slicked with warm sticky, blood—her blood—touching over her face.

"Just hang on, Maka. You're going to be fine."

_No, Soul. I'm not. I'm not._

Maka could feel it, that everything was beginning to slip away: Her vision, her hearing, her life. The pain was there in the yawning hole of her chest, but it was distant, more like the memory of pain; it was definitely real, though, torn right into her and rapidly sapping her of strength and life. She had to fight to get air into her lungs, struggle to force it out around the wetness settling, and with each second that passed, each moment of watching Soul hover over her, her vision was dimming, blurring around the edges so that every color seemed to blend together until barely anything was discernable.

Except for Soul. She could still see him with perfect clarity: the white of his hair, the broad shoulders beneath his jacket, the deep red eyes and his dearly familiar face.

But it wouldn't be for much longer.

Maka swallowed thickly, something warm sticking in her throat, and her fingers twitched at her side. She opened her mouth, tried to form his name, but nothing came out.

"Shhh, don't try to talk," he ordered quickly, harshly, voice nothing near gentle; his, fingers, however, brushed the hair out of her eyes with a swift tenderness before he returned to pressing his hands over the wound, and she didn't have to look to know that he was stained past his wrists with her blood. He jerked his head away briefly, yelling over his shoulder, but his voice was muffled to her ears, steadily growing deaf with each heartbeat.

The crease between his eyebrows…the frantic glow in his eyes…the pallor of his tanned cheeks…Maka wanted to wipe all of it away, to be able to just raise her hand and smooth out those tortured lines. Soul was always worrying over her, though she knew he wouldn't admit it, but to be subjected to such a degree was cruel, and she hated herself for not being quick enough to get out of Asura's reach, for causing such a look of agony to settle on her partner's face.

She tried to say his name again, just managing to lift her hand off the ground, but something went wrong.

Heat crawled up her throat, scorching and choking, and she gagged, coughing up coppery blood that stained her lips and chin, and with it came a fresh wash of pain that had her gasping in throbbing breaths, hands clenching into fists. Soul cursed, deep and unhinged, and pressed down harder on her chest, hands shaking.

The expression on his face was the only conformation she needed.

His teeth were clenched so hard that it was amazing his jaw hadn't cracked, mouth pulled into an angle many would have called ugly, but one Maka knew meant he was calling upon everything inside himself as he tried to keep his composure, a look she had seen only a few times since she'd met him. His eyebrows were harsh over his eyes, which were wide and unsteady and swirling erratically, and his hands did not shy away from the blood pumping out between his fingers.

She coughed again, almost an astounded laugh, and more blood shot up her throat.

_I'm dying. I'm really dying._

"Don't you even think that crap, Maka!" Soul yelled into her face, fierce and resolute, able to see the sluggish thoughts reflected in her eyes. "You're not gonna die! You're gonna be fine!"

Was he trying to convince her…or himself?

_Soul._

"Shut up!" Soul turned away from her, looking over his shoulder. "Kid! _Kid!_" His voice faded off, her vision tunneling out before snapping back, and then she was struggling again, trying to keep him in her sight, to stay awake.

She was slipping; Maka knew that, knew she shouldn't feel the cold spreading down her legs and up her arms, should instead feel the hot blood soaking into her clothes. And for the first time since she realized she's been impaled, she was terrified: of dying, of leaving things unsaid and undone, of leaving people behind who were counting on her, on failing.

She didn't have much strength, she knew that, but she put everything she had into forcing movement down her arm, and then her hand was lifting off the ground and she was willing it to move, even as it trembled to fall back to the earth. She stretched her arm, focusing on Soul's face as she reached for him, watching his eyes flicker to her hand.

Maka pressed her gloved hand to his cheek, the only thing she could do.

A silent goodbye.

His face contorted, terror swimming in his eyes as her hand dropped, having used up everything she had. And yet she could still see him, and that was all that mattered: he was with her.

He leaned over her, pressing his sweat slicked forehead to hers, eyes begging. "Maka." The word came low and shattered, all fight gone, his voice a quivering breath that was nearly a sob.

Sound to her right, new hands touching her face, but when Maka tried to see who the newcomer was, she found she couldn't will he eyes to move. In fact, keeping them open was too much effort now; the cold was everywhere, clinging to her, it blackness ready to devourer her. Voices were calling her name, speaking to her, voices that were not Soul's but ones her ears could no longer recognize…

_I'm sorry._

Maka closed her eyes.

* * *

The world came to slowly, the way it did when waking from a deep dream, and Maka's eyelids lifted, grogginess and disorientation still upon her but no longer as heavy. The only thing she was really aware of was that this wasn't right: She was almost certain she had just died, so for the afterlife to be so similar to waking up was something she hadn't anticipated, never imagined. But soon, the world around her settled, and Maka was staring up into the anxious face of her Weapon partner, emotion written rough and raw in his features.

"S…Soul?"

He breathed out a sigh of relief, one that came from the depths of his core, and gave a closed mouth smile. She felt the weight of his hand on her face, cradling her cheek. "Yeah. Welcome back."

She stared at him, confused, then gingerly lifted up on her elbow, the action causing her to wince. Soul's hands pushed on her shoulders gently, urging her back down where she half lay against him, and she complied, still too bewildered to put up any fight. "What…what happened?"

Soul looked away from her, and it was only then that Maka realized that they were not alone. "I want to know that too. Kid, think you can explain?"

Death the Kid stood over them, a full fledged Death God, his pupils still gold but now the skulls of Lord Death, signifying his newfound status. His face was drawn, the skin around his eyes tightening as his gaze landed on her. "I was able to call you two inside my soul. Black Star's holding for us, and the girls are just outside, but we have to move quickly."

Maka looked to Soul, silently asking for help, and he had an arm around her shoulders instantly, lifting her into more of a sitting position. She looked around them, unable to see anything outside the bright blue light that was Kid's soul, the soft glow of it shimmering and reflecting off of his and Soul's faces.

With the last bit of disorientation fading, the fact that moving and talking and _breathing_ should be impossible now hit Maka hard enough to nearly take the air from her lungs, and she looked down at her chest, fingers only fumbling slightly as she began to unbutton the snaps of her trench coat. She gasped. "What _happened _to me?"

The wound was completely gone, the only evidence of its existence the large blossom of blood that still wetted her shirt, coat, and skirt. She pressed on her chest and was able to register a very faint pain, looking from her torso to the two boys around her, unable to comprehend how it could have healed so quickly, healed _at all_.

"Kid patched you up," Soul answered, looking down to the blood still covering her, then to the same red substance staining his hands, a profound ache flashing once again in his features.

Kid walked closer to them, expression wane and exhausted, but Maka saw something else in those eyes of his: Sadness? "I was able to use my powers to close the wound, heal the damaged organs and tissue."

Maka sighed out in relief, relaxing into Soul, and she felt his hand squeeze her shoulder. She was actually alive?

Then why did Kid look like he was attending someone's funeral?

Thick dread settled in her stomach, and the wound seemed to throb afresh. "What's wrong, Kid?"

Death incarnate took a deep breath, then came to her other side and knelt beside her, eyebrows pulled down and face unusually open, exposed even, emotion flaring behind his eyes. "This will hold for a while, but…once the power that I transferred into you runs out, the wound will reopen."

Maka's breath exited her parted lips in a soft gasp, heart hammering as renewed fear swelled inside her, expanding in her belly. Kid looked away, more pained than she could ever remember seeing him, his hand clenched on his knee.

She had thought she was ready for death, was facing it, but now that she was still here, still alive, she could hardly imagine going back to that pain, that loss of feeling, that dark cold.

Maka sunk back against Soul.

This was only temporary.

She was going to die.

Against her, Soul had gone still, but now seemed to regain himself; his hand was tight on her shoulder, grip almost painful, but she would never tell him that. "Then we have to get her back to Death City. Take her to your old man, the dispensary, anything."

Maka looked up at Soul, heart overcome with a sudden, deep throbbing: his jaw was tight, eyes steady and determined, ready to do anything needed.

_Oh, Soul. _

He didn't understand.

Kid met his gaze, barely hidden grief flickering through his as he shook his head. "There's no way we could get back to the city in time, and even if we did, there's nothing my father could do, nothing anyone can do for a wound of that magnitude."

When the realization finally settled over Soul, Maka was surprised at the actual pain it caused her, like it was a wound itself burrowing into her body. His eyes widened, lips parting as the breath rushed out of his lungs, and the worst part was that he didn't make a sound, was silent in the midst of shock. Utter incredulity, agony and panic fought for dominance, before his features tightened and shifted, eyes narrowing and mouth pulling into a snarl so biting, she wondered how Kid kept from flinching at it.

"So that's it?" he spat, voice snapping with fire. "She's just going to…to _die_? And you're just going to let her, not even _try_?"

"Soul—" Maka started, lifting a hand to touch his arm, but he pulled out of her reach, not even looking away from Kid.

"I did try," Kid answered calmly. "That's the reason Maka's still with us. But my abilities are limited, and there's only so much I can do."

Soul rebelled against that, entire body on edge; Maka could feel the rage vibrating from his frame into hers, the tension burning through him. He glared at Kid, teeth flashing bright and sharp in a glare Maka could not remember ever seeing, not once since he first became her partner all those years ago. "You a Grim Reaper! You, of all people, should be able to do something."

Even as he asked this, Maka knew there was nothing Kid—or anyone—could do to stop the wound from splitting open again, to save her life. She sat between them, silent and lost to her thoughts, still adjusting to the fact that she was most definitely going to die. It had hit her rigid at first, but then it seemed to give into something she could tolerate, and after the first initial moment of distress and fear, Maka's breath came calmly.

She could handle dying. She had been ready, and though she couldn't imagine it now, she knew that she was willing to walk into death once again if it meant everyone else would survive, if she was able to help destroy Asura. She wouldn't say that she was not afraid, but it wasn't for what was ahead: it was for what—who—she was leaving behind.

She met Kid's eyes, feeling unusually steady. "How long do I have?"

Soul let out a sound at her side that was somewhere between a growl and a scream, then pulled away so swiftly that Maka nearly fell over, but she caught herself in time to see him get to his feet and walk to the farthest edge of the soul barrier, hands grasping viciously at his hair and cursing loudly. She swallowed down the guilt that washed over her for causing him so much pain, even as her heart cracked, and she turned quickly back to Kid before her eyes filled and she lost control of herself.

Kid's gaze was intense but shadowed by sorrow and dread. "An hour. That's all can give you. Yes, I'm a Grim Reaper, and it'll be my job to collect the souls of the deceased, to monitor the line between life and death. But I can't undo death; not even my dad can do that. You have one hour, Maka, but know that when that hour is up, the wound will reopen, and if you're meant to die today, I cannot stop it."

Maka took a deep breath, giving herself a few precious moments, seconds she didn't have time to waste, for herself to adjust to knowing that as soon as she left this instant, as soon as they exited Kid's soul and resumed fighting, she would only have sixty minutes to live. It was no where near enough time, but she had to accept that it was hers.

But that didn't mean she would go down so easily. She would take that bastard Asura with her, and when the time came for her to go, she would do so gracefully.

That's what she told herself.

She wasn't so sure if she believed it.

Maka nodded, steely determination lining her backbone and everything inside of her, replacing the hollow knowledge that she would not see tomorrow, or the next day. "I understand."

She could feel Soul glaring at her, his gaze hot and piercing, but she managed to keep her eyes off of him; it hurt enough already, knowing that she would be gone soon, and to see it written so clearly on his face would be excruciating. She would have to face him soon, though, but for now, she couldn't let herself.

Maka made it to her feet, staring up into the blue of Kid's soul, aware that somewhere above them, Blake Star and Tsubaki were holding off the Kishin, Liz and Patty guarding the three of them. Her legs were strong beneath her, the pulse of her blood pounding calm and steady through her veins; hard to believe that once she rejoined the battle, she would be dying. But for this moment, she was healthy: Lungs, heart, limbs and mind, all working together to keep the life flowing through her body.

She was alive.

"Alright. Let's go."


	2. Rest of Their Bones

**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, as Atsushi Ōkubo is the rightful creator and owner.**

**A/N: Y'all, I am so sorry this has taken so long! I've been really busy these last two weeks or so, so I just recently got to work on this. I must say, though, that I'm happy with the way it turned out, although I don't know if you will be. I took some inspiration from the RAW scans of Chapter 111, but otherwise, this is entirely of my own creation!  
**

**As for this chapter's name, I was torn between two lines of the poem by Donne: either **Rest of Their Bones** or **Soul's Delivery**. Now, the reason I chose the first was because of the adjective _their_, as it refers to more than one: Soul and Maka. Plus, you'll understand the other reason why when you finish this story. However, the other line really connects with the entire focus of the Soul Eater manga series in the way that it speaks of the soul; and it _does_ just so happen to be Soul Eater's name. So, I want YOUR opinion! Which do you like better?**

**The same warning from Chapter One still applies, but that's pretty obvious.**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

Soul would never forgive her for this.

He stood at Maka's side, neither of them looking at the other, knowing there was a battle raging around them but not moving from where they were, somewhere inside the young Death God's soul. Time was precious, even more so once they returned to the real world; Soul knew it was stupid to be standing around.

But she wasn't making a move to go, and so neither would he. Not until she was ready. Because even though he was furious with her, more so than he could ever remember being, he was still her Weapon, and he did as his Meister commanded.

An hour. That was all the time Kid has been able to buy her. And once she left the safety of his soul, the clock would begin counting down.

Fresh blood flooded his mouth from the wound he'd been aggravating on the inside of his jaw, teeth digging in ever since he'd been left alone with her. He bit down harder, enough force behind it so that he would normally have winced, but he didn't let up. This pain, _physical pain_, was good; he could actually make it stop.

But not the pain sitting on his chest. Never that.

Soul was pissed. Pissed at Kid for not being able to do anything else, at Maka for being so damn calm. But mostly at himself for not moving faster, for not getting her out of the way in time. For never being strong enough to protect her.

To his left, Soul could see Maka's body shift ever so slightly, could hear her inhale a quiet breath. "Sixty minutes is plenty of time to take the Kishin down," she said, still not looking at him.

Soul said nothing.

"I can definitely do this. _We _can do this."

Hands tightening into fists, he glared at the flickering, glowing light of Kid's soul.

Maka exhaled a sigh, and from the corner of his eye, Soul could see her turn to him. "Please just talk to me."

"You're dying." The words came out before he had a chance to stop them, low and gravelly and bitter, burning into him. "I watched you be impaled and fall, and I could feel your blood on my hands. Still can." He rubbed his thumbs over the pads of his other fingers, crusted with blood: the same blood that covered her shirt and his sleeves.

He was quiet a moment, trying to calm his breaths down so that he didn't end up losing it, but the words bubbled like acid on his tongue and. "You were gone. Dead. And you're going to be again as soon as we step out of here."

Soul couldn't remember ever feeling such anger in his life, like it was an actual living thing burning him up from the inside, ripping something agape and flooding out from his body. He was actually shaking, his frame nearly vibrating as he struggled with the beast inside him, tried to push it back down like he would madness, even as it tore its way to the surface.

And when he finally did look at her, vicious and enraged and hurting so deeply he didn't think it would ever stop as he met her gaze, the last bit of his composure seemed to shatter, and he felt heat block his throat, his vision swimming for a moment. She was staring at him in a way he had never seen; not with fear, but something akin to grief reflecting in her gaze: verdant eyes wide, her mouth a small, shapeless sound, and sorrow clear on her face, like someone had written it into her features along with the pain he found there; not physical pain, though, but the same kind he was being subjected to, Soul realized.

She was hurting because of what _this_—her death—was doing to him.

God, she was _dying_.

He wanted to look away, but he didn't want to, and he cleared his vision and focused on her: breathing, seeing, hearing, feeling. Alive.

Temporarily.

"So forgive me if I don't want to say anything, Maka," he snarled, trying to put venom into the words, but to his horror, his voice cracked on her name, sucking out every bit of strength he'd had left and leaving him shaking once more. He turned away as quickly as he had looked at her, hiding his trembling, bloody hands in his pockets and breathing deeply through his nose as he tried to steady his shattering heart.

Maka didn't say anything back, but he caught a glimpse of her dropping her head downward, lifting her hands to twist her fingers together like she did when she was anxious. Soul closed his eyes. "I'm talking to you. Happy now?"

"…no."

He flicked his gaze to her, saw how she was staring at her feet, downtrodden. And it only made him angrier. Soul heaved an aggravated breath, unconsciously shoving a hand into his hair and staining it with blood. "Stop giving up. You didn't yell back at me, didn't even fight what Kid told you. The Maka I know doesn't give in so easily. My Maka's too stubborn to."

She looked at him, and he finally looked back, focusing on her face and not the dark stains on her clothing. She had a smear, though, of blood on the right corner of her mouth he must have missed earlier while she was still unconscious, and without thinking, he pulled his sleeve down and wiped the clean material over her face.

Maka watched silently, though he did hear her breathing cease for just a second, and once he saw the smear was gone, he let his sleeve slide back down so that his bare hand was on her face. Her skin was warm and soft against his palm, blood flushing beneath her cheeks as he let his thumb touch the corner of her mouth.

Even though he had seen her slipping away, had seen the light dimming from her eyes, Soul could not imagine her dead. Or, more accurately, he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. Without her, there would be no one to ride his back for screw ups liking burning dinner or drinking milk out of the carton; no one to make him clean up his messes; no one to roll their eyes at him when he talked about how cool he was; no one to laugh with him at corny movies; no one to hold a bowl beneath him while he vomited, too weak with a virus to get to the bathroom, and not complain; no one to listen to him play the piano without judgment; no one to hold his Weapon-form handle with such confidence, such surety; no one to smile at him in that way she did. Hell, no one to give him a damn chop to the head.

He'd give up anything, even take a Maka Chop every day of his life, if it meant she could live, could stay with him.

Maka blinked at him, eyes alive and steady. "You're not giving up, are you." It wasn't a question.

Soul knew exactly what she meant, and he stared back evenly. "Never."

She smiled against his hand, eyes closing briefly before reopening, and there it was: that focus she had, the one that he was always looking for before they entered a clash. He managed a small smile for her benefit, even though he knew it most likely looked more like a smirk or even a grimace, pain still fresh and aching. But if they were going to win this, he couldn't let his emotions get the best of him. Maka surely wouldn't.

Soul let his hand drop, but then she had hold of it, her fingers small and warm inside her glove. She held onto him tightly, and he held back with as much force, refusing to let go. He wasn't going to let death tear her away from him.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

Fingers dancing over keys, moving faster than Soul could ever remember playing as he amplified their wavelength, able to feel Maka's soul beating in time with his, able to feel the others around him. The Black Blood that was a part of him throbbed, pounding out a rhythm he didn't recognize, a rhapsody unknown yet somehow familiar.

The only way for them to win was to combine strength, but their attacks weren't having as much of an effect as they needed. They had weakened Asura, but he was still going, still using more power than should be possible.

Soul could feel Maka's hands, even while he was in the Black Room, could feel the strength of them, the determination. But he could also feel her weakening. Because their souls were connected in resonance, he could feel her intensity and growing exhaustion, and it made him play even more rapidly, play harder, so focused and engrossed that sweat poured down his face.

_Soul, we need a new plan, fast. If we can amplify the Black Blood and transfer it to me—_

_And if I play louder—_

_We may have a shot._

His fingers moved to their own accord, always faster, and he could feel the dark blood pumping through his veins, spreading out through his soul and reaching for her like inky fingers. But this was a part of him, and he wasn't going to let it get out of his control.

And then Soul could feel the Black Blood flooding her system, reshaping both her and him. He could feel himself changing, blade transforming into a keyboard meant only for her, could feel her spirit pound in time with his. And he could see her, adorned in a dress of Black Blood and looking more fearsome and breathtaking than he had ever seen her, no sign of fear in hers eyes as she faced the Kishin.

They were ready.

Kid and Black Star made their move, attacking Asura as one to give them the opening they needed to end it.

Now or never.

_Play, Maka!_

And she did, a haunting melody that rose and fell and screamed and breathed, the sound of their joined souls brought to life as she charged the Kishin, and Soul felt a sense of sudden surety spread through both of them in that moment. Because no matter what, they were connected. No matter what happened today, Maka was his Meister and he her Weapon, and nothing that bastard Asura or anyone did could ever change that.

Maka swung wide, Black Star holding fast and Kid gripping tightly to Asura to keep him from dodging. And then Soul felt his blade tear into the Kishin's chest, through tissue and bones and muscles, his soul and Maka's a combined force that was battling through his.

Soul felt Asura's madness, but more than anything, he felt Maka's poised hands and large heart and her not so tiny soul, and in that moment, he was content. Because he knew, finally admitted, that he would never feel the calm surety of his soul resonating in time with hers after this battle.

* * *

Covered in grime and dried blood and sporting numerous bruises and sore limbs, Soul stood beside his partner, overlooking the barren landscape of the Moon in silence. Miraculously, with the Black Blood and their soul wavelength at its most powerful, the blow had been the final hit needed to weaken Asura enough for all of them to finally destroy him, though no one had gone unscathed. Black Star's arm was shattered, and Kid was sporting a few broken ribs, but thankfully, Maka hadn't received any other injury.

That didn't take the weight off Souls' chest though.

Over the last few minutes, he'd watched Maka make her final goodbyes, standing with her because he knew she needed him there, even though it was nearly agonizing to watch her with the others. Black Star had reached out for her hand, but before she'd even gripped it firmly, he'd had his unbroken arm around her in a tight hold. "You're getting a hug from the great Black Star, so feel honored."

But Soul had heard his voice, had known he was swallowing down tears, and to see his best friend besides Maka in such a state had sliced him like a knife.

Maka had wrapped her arms around him, face pressed into his shoulder for a moment as she'd said something Soul couldn't hear. But he'd seen the single tremble shake Black Star's shoulders and knew he wasn't supposed to know.

All the girls cried and clung to her, Tsubaki the worst, but Maka had somehow kept her eyes dry as she held onto them, trying to soothe their tears.

The exchange between Maka and Kid had been quicker than the others, maybe because they had said their goodbyes when they'd been inside Kid's spirit, Soul realized. Maka had taken his hands and squeezed them tightly and smiled. "For symmetry's sake, thought I'd hold both hands."

He'd coughed a laugh, though it had been shaky, and looked at her with such apology that Soul no longer felt any malice toward his friend, knowing he truly had done everything he could with the power he had.

But when it reached Death Scythe, Soul had had to turn away, unable to take seeing Spirit so genuinely emotional and Maka on the verge of finally breaking down as she wrapped her arms around him and he held her close. Because no matter what Maka said about him, about how much he annoyed her and how low he was, she loved her father fiercely in a way Soul had never been able to love his.

Now, everyone else had retreated, carrying the farewells she couldn't make to her loved ones back on Earth.

Which left him here, with her, unable to say goodbye.

Soul wasn't sure how much time she had left, though he knew it couldn't be long. Her breathing was more labored, beads of perspiration trickling down her face though there was nothing to stimulate it. He looked at her, watching her gaze out over the Moon; hair in messy pigtails, covered in dirt and scratches, green eyes seeing something he couldn't.

Heat flooded his chest, gripping his throat.

He could not tell her goodbye.

So Soul reached out and took her wrist, pulling the glove away and tossing it to the ground before lacing his fingers through hers, knowing words weren't necessary.

Maka's fingers fit perfectly between his as she gripped his hand back, her hold still the same one that carried him with such conviction and composure. But she was struggling on air now, and he could hear it, the way her lungs were fighting against the blood slowly pooling in them. She placed her other hand to her chest, and when she pulled it away, it was covered it fresh blood, blood Soul could now see beginning to trickle down her font.

Panic washed over him, just like when he's seen the wound for the first time, and he held onto her hand tighter.

Maka stared at her palm, the blood on her glove. "Looks like…my time's almost up."

_No._

She turned to him, her eyes glistening and wet, lips trembling slightly. "I'm sorry I couldn't stick around longer, Soul."

_NO._

Maka closed her eyes, still smiling, her voice wobbling. "I guess you'll have to become the most powerful Death Scythe without me."

_**NO.**_

Soul said nothing—_could _say nothing, the pulse of blood blocking his throat—but he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her small body to his, tight enough to feel her bones pressing into him but not enough to hurt her. He could feel her warmth still, feel the blood steadily trickling from the reopened wound, and when she dropped her head to his shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt and breath hot and gasping on his neck, her hand clenching in the material of his jacket, he lifted a hand to the back of her head and just held her, letting his own head drop to her shoulder as he breathed her in. She smelt like dust and sweat and vanilla and clean laundry—she smelt like Maka.

She smelt like home.

He closed his eyes against the flood of wetness threatening to spill from them, heart breaking, and pressed his face to the pulse at her neck.

They were quiet for a little while, just holding one another, Soul able to feel her heart beating against his and the warm wet of blood soaking his shirt. His arm slipped down to her waist, the other still stroking though her hair as he lifted his head. "You can read my thoughts, can't you?"

Maka sniffed. "Yeah."

He said nothing, let his thoughts filter toward her.

She stiffened against him, then lifted her head so reveal a face streaked with tears, and a jolt of hot terror shot through him when he saw just how large and glassy her eyes were, saw that her lips were dotted with red. "Soul…no. N-no."

He ducked his head, his forehead against hers. "As a Weapon, it is my duty to die for my Meister. You know that."

Maka shook her head frantically, more tears streaming down her cheeks. "But you can't…I'm already—"

"I know. And I don't care." He smiled crookedly, though the action hurt, his eyes burning with something hot that finally spilled over, a single tear burning a path down his grimy face. "We stay together."

She said nothing, though he could see a thousand words screaming in her eyes, trying to argue but unable to. He lifted his hand to her face, wiping uselessly at the tears that were still falling but more slowly now, and cupped her cheek. "Okay?"

She blinked at him, clearly trying to stop crying, and finally nodded.

Soul, strangely calm for someone who was about to die, kept one arm around her, his hand on her shoulder, and slid the other behind his back. One of Maka's arms remained around his middle, her other hand, her gloveless hand, coming up to lace her fingers through his as she rested her head on his shoulder, panting in wet breaths against his neck, clearly fighting the urge to cough up the blood threatening to drown her.

Standing there, with his Meister dying in his hold, ready to call on his Weapon form and produce a blade from his arm, Soul was not afraid.

It was simple, really, the only option he'd ever had. Returning to life without her wasn't possible, not after becoming her partner and knowing her, living with her, fighting with her, hurting with her, laughing with her. Loving her.

He did. He loved her. Maybe he didn't know what kind it was, and never would, but it was enough to know that he loved this girl.

The arm around his back tightened, and Maka buried her face in his neck. _I love you too, Soul._

And slowly, he smiled, letting his head drop against hers and closing his eyes, the pain not quite as severe any longer. Because he'd known, known that what they shared couldn't be obtained without pain and laughter, anger and happiness, faith and time. Soul didn't give himself easily to people, and Maka had such a hard time when it came to trusting others…but when the right person came along, he gave all that he was, and she trusted with her whole heart.

Soul's arm tingled, ready to transform for the final time.

He was ready, and from the resolve he felt resonating through her, he knew Maka was too.

Closing his eyes, Soul transformed.

The blade tore through his chest, into hers, and his body jerked forward, pain shooting out so that he nearly screamed, but he clamped his mouth shut and held her tighter, trying to focus on her and not the blazing throb in his chest and back. She wasn't able to keep the sound of pain from exiting her throat, and the hand holding his tightened, clinging, as her hold on him intensified. Soul didn't bother retracting the blade, knew it would be over soon anyway, and so he fought through the pain to Maka, the side of his face against hers.

Because he went where she went. And even as blood filled his mouth, trailed over when he parted his lips, his voice was strong despite the fact that he felt himself slipping quickly, right along with her, their souls, even now, still connected. "Not exactly…the coolest way to go…but it's our way. Right…Maka?"

He felt her lips pull up into a tired, fleeting smile against his jaw. "Right."


End file.
